


A World Alone

by afewmistakesago



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon Divergence, Cursed AU, Cursed Storybrooke, F/M, Golden Lace, but it's rumbelle at the end, hint hint wink wink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 18:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4716512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afewmistakesago/pseuds/afewmistakesago
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cursed Storybrooke AU where Lacey French is a barfly at night and a reporter by day. Adam Gold can't recall how long he's been married to her, but he knows it's time for it to be over. <br/>This one-shot runs through the big moments in their relationship, ending with Lacey remembering who she really is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A World Alone

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at Golden Lace! I'd love to know what you thought.   
> "All the double-edged people and schemes, they make a mess then go home and get clean, you're my best friend, and we're dancing in a world alone" - Lorde, A World Alone

  
  


He was going to do it today. The papers had been in his desk for months, but today was the day he would gather his courage and tell her to pack her bags. They had some good times as a couple, but it was over. They were both unhappy and it was time he did something about it. It’d likely been a year since she began sneaking out of bed when she thought he was asleep, stumbling back in the morning and mumbling something about working.

 

It was a joke. She’d hardly worked since they’d stopped talking, opting to lounge around the house and spend his money, or go to the bar and spend his money, or visit her friends and avoid him all day. Lacey Gold was his in name, but not his in her heart. While they’d once been too enamored to speak, it was now the opposite. There was nothing to talk about. Of course, they still went out to Granny’s every now and again, and attended Regina’s dreadful town meetings together, but she never stopped by the shop just to stop by anymore. She never touched him anymore, eyeing him with a vague distain that hurt him in deeper ways than he could explain.

 

Lacey wasn’t on the opposite side of the bed when he woke up, but she at least had the decency this morning to write a note and pin it to the refrigerator. Sometimes her idea of an explanation was a shrug when she returned smelling of smoke and the drink of the night.

 

_“Girls day with Ruby. Be back this afternoon.”_

 

He had plucked the note off the cool surface that morning, his fingers tracing her words. Her notes to him used to be much longer, filled with eloquent words and declarations of love. She’d always been reckless, his Lacey, but he used to love her for that. He loved the way she danced around him on her ridiculously high heels, and he loved the way she could drink far more than he thought a person ought to drink and not a lose a bit of her charm. He was tired of her now, and she was tired of him now.

 

Their affair had started with her chasing him, not the opposite as many thought. Terrible Mr. Gold after the floozy Lacey French. It was her - all her. Always her. He was always a step behind, it seemed. Most of his years’ memories were escaping him, covered by a golden haze, but significant moments with Lacey stood out.

 

Their first encounter was after a town meeting where he’d defied Regina on some petty zoning rule. The town charter forbade what Regina was trying to do, and he didn’t really care, but he wanted to see her lose against him.

 

Lacey had followed him out of the meeting, her heels clicking on the tile. “Mr. Gold,” she called after him, making him pause and turn to her. She was dressed professionally, her makeup was understated, and she looked - normal. It was a different side of her.  She didn’t look like she normally did when she passed him on his nightly walk. He walked to stretch his ankle, and she was normally drunkenly walking the opposite way back to her father’s home.

 

“Miss French,” he said, shifting nervously and giving her what he hoped was a bored look. “I see you’re interested in town affairs now.”

 

She gave him a smile small, flashing the badge pinned to her shirt at him. “Sidney Glass just gave me a freelance job. I’m not a bad writer, and it pays the bills.”

 

“Do you write before or after you visit The Rabbit Hole, Miss French?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her. She blanched, then recovered.

 

“Oh, after. It’s more fun that way. Better reader response,” she said with a serious nod.

 

“I see.”

 

“I was just wondering if you would give me a quote about the zoning issue. I hate Regina Mills and want nothing more than for her to lose this vote.”

 

Mr. Gold grinned. “Happily.”

 

Looking back, he should’ve walked away then, refused her request. Her sapphire eyes were begging him to keep talking, to fall under her spell. They were a great team, agreeing on town issues and working together to get their way. They were not to be messed with. Their first meeting led to a second, from innocently sitting in a coffee shop and giving her an opinion, to his shop, to the backroom of his shop, and finally, to his bedroom.

 

He’d asked if she was sure so many times. She was, she was, she was, she assured him. And then she was his. Lacey wasn’t a usual girl, telling him she believed marriage to be a construct, saying drinking was a way to get through life. She kept talking, and he let her. Her emotions were all too passionate, or not at all there. Maybe he should’ve ended things before she moved all her things to his house, her wild clothing and accessories extremely out of place in his home.

 

Maybe he shouldn’t have fallen for her sugar-coated words, shouldn’t have been entranced by her berry-colored lips, shouldn’t have run his hands through her brunette curls like his life depended on it every night of their affair. But he had. He did. He thought he loved her. Her sarcasm and quick wit matched his, and it was enchanting to find someone who was seen as so flighty be so serious, so alarmingly focused when she wanted to be. Maybe he loved an idealized version of her, one whose heart had only his name across it.

 

She loved him, she said - she always made a point to say she loved all of him. She loved his power, that he could evict someone on a whim. She loved that their love was a scandal, rocking the town. She loved that her father hated that she was dating the town’s villain. She told him he was handsome, and he had foolishly believed her.

 

He had learned her different voices, knew when her voice was deep and she called him by his first name, she was serious. Her voice was lighter and airy when she called him “baby” - this was normally when she wanted something. She learned to read his moods by his different sighs, knew when tenants were particularly frustrating. She could tell when he was stressed or excited, swiftly conquering the walls he had built around his feelings.

 

They had been happy once. He could remember the determined glint in her eyes at the start of their relationship. The only thing he got from her now was the cold shoulder. It had been years since they got married, and surely a year since he’d felt comfortable with her in the room with him. Everything seemed to melt together in his memory. She was suffocating him, and he regretted that she’d been the only one he let in to his life.

 

Lacey was the only one who knew his first name and used it, the only one who whispered “Adam” into his ear when she thought he was being too tough or too sullen. He’d never smiled as much as he had during their early days as a real couple. The rest of the town had never seen him smile, but she  had seen all of him. They were tumultuous, they were every storybook couple falling into the trope of opposites attracting and sparking. When he told her he loved her back, she’d melted into his arms and he felt like forever was achievable if she was the one at his side. He had dumbly believed that the little spitfire Lacey French was undoubtedly his soul mate. He loved the way her petite body seemed to be made for his, loved the way her long brunette hair fell in waves across her bare shoulders. It was still unbelievable that she wanted him when she clearly the most beautiful thing to ever land in Storybrooke, and he was on the other end of the spectrum.

 

It wasn’t that it was always bliss, their relationship before the wall was built between them - he recalled several nights of screaming about stability and fidelity and dirty dishes and other things lovers disagree upon. It was a mistake, after all, their marriage. A fluke.

 

All those years ago - they were all starting to  blend together -, she had run into his shop, her work lanyard still on. “Adam,” she breathed, pushing his papers off the counter.

 

“I was doing something, Lacey,” he said icily, bending to pick them up. He’d slept on the couch the previous night, after she’d yelled at him for being too cold and he told her she was too emotional and that her father was right, she had no goals or ambitions. He hadn’t meant it. The writing she had done for the paper was brilliant, and she could pursue journalism if she decided to be serious about anything. He just couldn’t read when she wanted an emotional reaction, versus when she wanted to be held and not spoken to.

 

“Adam,” she repeated, her voice wavering. He looked up, standing across the counter from her. Lacey’s voice didn’t normally waver. She didn’t have any makeup on, and she was blinking back tears.

 

“Adam, I’m late,” she finally managed, her voice breaking.

 

It took him a few moments to process what she meant. “Have you been to the doctor?” he asked after a few moments of loaded silence.

 

She shook her head, biting her lip. “ I can’t buy a test - nothing stays a secret here. Dr. Whale’s best friends with my dad, you think I’d go to him now? Like this?

”

“Like what, Lacey? I thought you had that taken care of,” he said, not meaning to snap at her but snapping none-the-less.

 

She used her wrist to wipe away the tears that were escaping. “Adam, we have to get married,” she whispered. “I can’t  - I can’t do this alone.”

 

He went around the counter, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, holding her in a tight embrace, feeling the tension ease from her body as she relaxed into his arms. She’d vaguely mentioned how her mother had left her family. He knew that she didn’t want children, and she certainly didn’t want to raise one by herself. He was neutral on the prospect of children, but if she was carrying his, he would support her. “You won’t do it alone, Lace,” he whispered. “We’ll be okay. We’re always okay.”

 

Later that week, she had a sparkling wedding ring and he had a simple band. The state of Maine had their marriage license. There was no actual wedding, no joyful celebration. She started signing things “Lacey Gold”, but if any townspeople had sent their congratulations, they had the wrong address.

 

She was just late. There was no baby. Lacey had cried when she told him, and he never knew if it was from joy or sadness.

 

And then, their conversations had begun awkwardly tapering off, with Lacey going out without him while he stayed home and worked. The assignments she picked up from the paper were less and less. He knew she was restless, and he wanted to reach for her, but she was already so far gone he didn’t think he could make it. It tormented him, living so close to her but being so far. He knew they had been happy once, but that happiness was long ago. All he could really remember was being displeased about nearly everything.There was silence when they ate together, and when he attempted conversation, she had simple, short answers.

 

Intimacy wasn’t even an option. She brushed him off cooly several times before he just stopped asking. He secretly thought she finally realized she hated being tied to an old, scarred man like him. She used to run her fingers gently over his body, whispering that the battles they had both endured made them strong. Now, he was lucky if she pecked his cheek when he left for the shop in the mornings. He suspected she was sleeping with someone else, but thinking too far into it led him to level of anger that frightened him.

 

And now he was in his shop, staring at the papers. He was filing for divorce. All she had to do was sign on the dotted line. Maybe he needed an annulment, really, because neither of them had to be sane to have been married and lasted as long as they had now. Some couples couldn’t make it past two months, but they’d made it several years. It wasn’t sad. It was just life.

 

The shop door creaked open. Lacey entered slowly, pulling her hair into a messy bun as she walked towards the counter. He liked it when she wore her hair down, but it was always up.

 

“Ready to go, Adam?” she asked, a bit impatient. He closed the drawer quickly, eyeing her suspiciously. “Ready for what?” he returned, noting the short new dress she was wearing. Her girl’s day with Ruby must’ve involved retail therapy.

 

“Henry Mill’s birthday party,” she said shortly, her eyes focused on her pristine manicure. “The invitations been on the counter for ages.”

 

“Oh,” was all he had to say in response. He hadn’t seen it. “Let’s go, then.”

 

They walked together towards the mayor's house, with her just a step in front of him. Lacey used to pay careful attention to his limp, to walk in step with him. Something made her pause, and he squinted in the sunlight to see who it was. Keith Nottingham was stumbling directly towards them, and Lacey had moved to stand behind her husband, like he could protect her.

 

“Lacey,” Keith crooned, “Haven’t seen you in ages, love. Like, at least since last night.”

 

“That’s enough, Keith,” she said flatly, keeping her hold on Adam’s arm. “Let’s just keep walking, Adam,” she whispered, walking around Keith.

 

“Mr. Gold,” Keith said, his smile jubilant, “I hear you can’t satisfy your woman anymore, and I,” he bowed, “am happy to take your place.”

 

Mr. Gold paused, his jaw dropping. Color was rising to Lacey’s cheeks, and she avoided his gaze. She reached out for his hand, her wedding ring flashing in the sunlight. His matching band suddenly felt like lead on his finger.

 

“Is that true, Lacey? Are you sleeping with him?” he asked, pointing to Keith, who was still in front of them, visibly intoxicated.

 

“Come on, baby, ignore him,” she said quietly, keeping her eyes on the concrete. It was confirmation enough. “We have to go. We can talk about this later,” Lacey said, her tone a warning.

 

“We never talk,” he whispered back, turning away from her. “I’m going home. Join me when you’re ready to be a fucking adult.”

 

She didn’t run after him. He didn’t think she would, but his inner hopeless romantic had hoped she might. He stopped by the shop, flipping through the divorce papers again and seeing that they were in order. Stopping by the shop’s back exit, he took down the framed photos he kept of them together. Her best friend Ruby had taken one at the court they day they got married, and he was nervously looking away from the camera. Lacey was on her tiptoes, grinning with her arms around his shoulders. Another was from some vacation they had taken - he couldn’t remember the exact beach. He didn’t think it really looked like them, but there was nobody else it could be. The smallest photo was tacked up with a pin, just of her. Lacey was in one of her signature little dresses, but the photo focused on her surprised face from his small attempt at photography. She was makeup-less, completely underwhelming to anyone else - but all too overwhelming to him. He hesitated, then reached for the photo, throwing it out before he headed home.

 

He’d have the papers laid out on the kitchen counter. As soon as she came back, she would be gone.

 

She would be gone, and he would be free. Lacey French was a damned mistake. He was going to pack his things, move to Boston. Get a job as a museum curator, he knew he had the skills. Forget he had known her. Forget how many dim nights and lazy mornings he had spent tangled with her. Forget how it felt to argue with her, to kiss and makeup. Forget what it was like to hold her hand when they walked to dinner, to laugh as she took another shot of whiskey. Forget what is was like to spend quiet mornings at the shop with her patiently helping him organize things. Forget how he had proof-read her novel that she’d never sent to a publishing house. Forget how when he got sick, she would always make soup for him, even though she hated cooking. Forget what it had felt to be truly, deeply, madly in love with a mad woman. She hadn’t done any of those things in ages and he was growing far too tired of her. He’d forget Lacey French, and he didn’t care if he lost himself in the process.

 

He didn’t hear her come in that night. He was ready for her arrival - ready to explode and feel all of his rage finally overflow, feel something emotional for the first time in a long time. It was nice, to be this angry, to be this ready to fight. He’d told himself he wouldn’t stay up for her, wouldn’t let her have an affect on him. But she did. She always would, no matter how unreturned his emotions were. She was certainly at the bar with Ruby, or maybe rolling around with that low-life no-job Keith, acting like her marriage meant nothing. Maybe it had always meant nothing to her.

 

He’d fallen asleep on the couch, despite his best efforts to stay awake. Lacey was creeping in, closing the door, and he watched her through half-closed eyes as she entered the kitchen, her mouth dropping as she read the papers.

 

Lacey whirled around, and he closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. “I know you’re awake,” she seethed, her voice venom. “What the hell are these?”

 

He opened his eyes, getting up and walking into the kitchen. “Exactly what they look like, sweetheart.”

 

She hated that term of endearment, and he knew it. Her eyes and nostrils flared, and she held the papers up. “Is this what you want, Adam? Is this how it ends?”

 

“It’s what you want, Lacey. What I want has _never_ been important to you,” he returned, matching her lethalness.

 

“That’s a damn lie, Adam. You know I love you, and you love me,” she said, her voice breaking. She collapsed onto one of the chairs, her arms covering her head as she was wracked with sobs. He’d never heard her cry like this, and his first instinct was to comfort her. Instead, he kept his distance.

 

“You haven’t loved me for a long time,” he returned, his voice cold. She looked up at him a bit, sniffling. “I married you, Adam,” she said, her voice pleading. “We’ve been together forever.”

 

It seemed like forever. The year they met was escaping him, but it had felt like an eternity that he was stuck with Lacey French Gold as his significant other.

 

“We both know it was a mistake,” he said. “I think I’m going to Granny’s motel for the day, Lace. Call me when you’ve got those signed.” Before he left the kitchen, he pulled his wedding band off and set it by her crying figure.

 

He didn’t cry until he was in the car, amazed he could still drive. He wanted to pound the horn, to smash a glass bottle, to keep yelling at her for everything she cost him. His dignity, years of his life, countless amounts of money… he hadn’t noticed how much Lacey had aged him until he was done with her.

 

Instead of the motel, he went to the beach. He found the waves calming as he clenched and unclenched his fists, rehashing what had happened with his wife that day. She had made him weak, took his carefully built layers and easily undid them with a wave of her wrist. Lacey was beautiful, and it made her dangerous. Underneath her beauty, she was truly intelligent and that made her even more dangerous. The fact that she often succumbed to drinking and partying worsened her effect of being a magnificent disaster. His problem was that he had thought he could tie her down, but nobody could. Nobody would ever be able to tie down her free-spirit.

 

He spent the night at the motel, and if Granny Lucas had any comments, she kept them to herself. She was more focused on the blonde woman checking in. Why anyone would vacation in Storybrooke was beyond him, but he supposed someone had to account for their dismally low level of visitors per year. He returned to the shop the next morning after a sleepless night, and found Lacey there waiting for him.

 

“Lacey?” he asked, protectively moving away in case she tried to throw something. Her eyes were unusually wide, and she was going up and down the aisles of antiques he possessed.

 

“You’re Adam,” she said breathily. “It is you.” She stepped closer to him, reaching to touch his face, but he jerked back.

 

“Of course it’s me,” he said angrily. “Who did you think would be here?”

 

Tears sprang to her eyes, and he noticed she wasn’t wearing any shoes. Her feet were dirty. Her hair was down and windswept, and it seemed like she’d run to the shop. “Are you okay?” he asked gently. “Are you drunk? Why don’t you go lie down…”

 

She began to laugh. “I’m not drunk. I can finally see, Adam. I can finally see.” Lacey continued to try and touch him, taking his hand in hers and smiling. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

 

“Not really,” he admitted, staring at her hand holding his. The look in her eyes was genuine and hopeful, neither of which she had been with him lately.

 

She wiped her tears away, “I just - I just ran into someone from my past. I went to Granny’s to talk to you, and I understand now.”

 

“You’re still not making sense, Lace. I think you’re exhausted,” he said gently. He’d never seen her like this, didn’t recognize the wild look in her eyes. She looked tired, but at the same time, enlightened, like she was carrying the world on her shoulders.

 

“I am exhausted,” she said quietly. “It’ll all make sense to you eventually.” Lacey reached out again, her hand gently cupping the side of his face. He stiffened at her unfamiliar touch. She smiled at him, and he frowned. “Did you sign the papers, Lacey?”

 

“Oh, no,” she said. “We’re going to work this out.”

 

 


End file.
